


The Guardian

by EternallyEC



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Episode: s01e13 Epitaph One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternallyEC/pseuds/EternallyEC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If she could put it into words, she would tell her how she is the last guardian of this once grand House that had been Home to her and so many others" What happened between Claire deciding to stay behind and Whiskey meeting the others in Epitaph One?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing; all recognizable characters, trademark and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon and co. I'm making no profit from this story, I just enjoy playing in Joss's sandbox.  
> Author's Note: I watched Dollhouse for the first time earlier this year at the prompting of some good friends and I was astounded at how little recognition it gets for being what I consider the best of Joss Whedon's work to date. Anyway, I fell head over heels for Whiskey and Claire Saunders (as I always seem to do for Amy Acker's characters) and after a discussion with a dear friend (see dedication for more), this happened. Written months ago, I just edited it and decided to share it as there's not nearly enough Whiskey fic out there.  
> Dedication: To Cassandra; not only because this idea was hers that she brought up and freely discussed with me and allowed me to run with, but because she's nothing short of an incredible person and friend. Also, she's the best recommender of all things out there and the biggest champion of my work whose encouragement has kept me believing in myself even when I didn't. This one is completely for you, love.

Silently she wanders the House that's become her tomb, silent and empty and yet deafening with memories that she can't quite catch. They slip through her mind like the ghost she's become, drawing just near enough for her to barely catch a glimpse before flitting away. She imagines the memories letting out peals of laughter as they elude her once again, but she can't feel angry or annoyed or anything but patient as she wanders, waiting for something that she knows is important although how she knows that or why it is important continues to elude her fragmented mind.

 

There are days when she becomes Claire again. It's never longer than a few minutes at best, but the doctor seizes on them to check the date and scribble a quick report. There's no time for the sadness and shock she feels each time she sees the date—the period of time between her resurfacings grows longer and longer each time. She pushes those emotions down and remains businesslike, recording everything she can during those precious moments of life. She's not sure if anyone is still coming but she knows she has to do her part, what she stayed behind and sacrificed her identity to do.

 

“ _You can't stay behind. It's suicide!” Echo protested quietly, having pulled her aside when she'd told them she wasn't going._

 

_Claire gazed at her evenly, resolve written on her face as clearly as her scars. “Someone has to stay behind in case there are any other survivors. Who else would you suggest? Adelle needs to take care of Topher and she's more suited to helping pave the way than showing others the path. You're their leader and Paul balances you in that. I'm the best choice and you know it.” Her voice cracks as she continues, “And I'm the one with the least to lose.”_

 

“ _You might lose Claire,” Echo points out, sympathy and understanding in her voice. “You know the risk of long term imprints—sometimes they fade and you've been Claire for years already. What if you revert to Whiskey? You might not be able to help anybody—hell, you might not even be able to take care of yourself it that happens.”_

 

“ _I know how to operate the chair,” she whispered, clearly having thought about this possibility. “Topher gave me more computer skills than necessary and if I feel myself slipping, I can give myself a treatment.” What she doesn't say is that she has no plans to do such a thing. Slipping sounds like a blessing to her, a release of sorts, and she hopes for it daily._

 

“I hope you made it to Safe Haven,” Claire whispers as she finishes writing and slips the reports into their appropriate folders. She can feel Whiskey clawing at the edges of her mind, demanding her body back, and she both welcomes and fights it. Because no matter how painful the knowledge of her artificially constructed existence was, what she had told Topher (has it really been so long as years?) still held true. She doesn't want to die any more than she did then.

 

Whiskey still waits. The Dollhouse was her home and even though it is vastly differently than it once had been, it is comforting to her, although she can't quite remember why. _Home,_ her subconscious whispers to her and she nods to herself, whispering the word aloud, feeling it out in her mouth. “Home.”

 

The Dollhouse is home and she is its' caretaker, its' Guardian. How she knows this she isn't any more sure of than why she is waiting, but she knows it regardless. Knows it the way she knows her name and that her tasks are important.

 

When the people come, it's loud and she scurries to hide in the shadows. Unaccustomed to the presence of others, she watches silently as they wander through her home. She can sense they mean no threat so she bides her time and waits. It's only when sounds of horror ring out that she emerges, silently padding along the familiar hallways to the showers.

 

It's there that she finds the woman, blood staining the floor around her in a dark crimson that almost brings back memories that dance away from her reaching grasp yet again. When she comes back, it's to find that her reaching had been physical as well and her hands are touching the woman's wounds.

 

Unperturbed, she backs away and glides away like the ghost she's become, retracing her steps until she reaches the main room again. Stopping in the middle, she waits, suddenly sure somehow that these people are the reason she's been waiting for so long.

 

It doesn't take long before she hears them and she slowly looks up to take in the sight of them, bloodstained hands held carefully in front of her so as not to stain her dress. “I found your friend.” She speaks evenly, without inflection and she isn't even afraid as they shout threats to her. She doesn't have the capacity, isn't even sure what fear is anymore. “Who are you? My name is Whiskey.”

 

“What's your last name?”

 

“I don't know,” she answers honestly, almost surprised. Last name? No one in the Dollhouse has last names—although once again, she isn't sure how she knows this, just that she does. Once again their voices bleed together and she pays them no attention until one asks her where she was born. “I don't know.” Another threat followed by another question, asking if she killed their friend. What an absurd idea. “I found her. She was sleeping.”

 

Patiently she waits as they speak again before they ask how she got down here. “I've always been here,” she answers honestly, once again not even wondering how she knows such a thing. The knowledge is just there and she doesn't question it. And suddenly, knowledge returns to her, the reason she's been waiting. “Are you looking for Safe Haven?”

 

From there, things move very quickly. She guides them to food and then to the chair, quickly finding the drive they'll need. The violence that follows doesn't disturb her, although the sound of gun shots is unpleasant to her ears, sensitive to the slightest noise after so much silence.

 

And then suddenly, the child is someone else and talking to her, calling her by an unfamiliar name that she meets with a polite smile and a correction, “My name is Whiskey.”

 

The child understands and smiles gently. “Oh, well thank you Whiskey, for helping them find me.”

 

“Was I my best?” she asks quietly, needing to know.

 

“Better.” Whiskey smiles in satisfaction at that, pleased that she's done well and fulfilled her role.

 

“You knew her before?”

 

“I told her if she stayed, she'd lose her mind,” the young girl answers softly, and Whiskey cocks her head. “I guess she decided that was better.”

 

For the first time in a long while, she can feel Claire clutching at the edges of her mind, wanting to tell the young girl in front of her—Echo, she remembers suddenly and just as quickly it's gone again—that she hadn't decided anything, that the imprint had failed just as she'd been warned and that by the time she'd longed to give herself a treatment, it had been far too late. But Whiskey has had control of her body for long enough that she easily shakes Claire away and begins to listen again, just in time to hear the child telling her to come with her.

 

Somehow, even though she knows she is supposed to obey orders without question, Whiskey finds herself resisting. “I need to wait.”

 

“Come with us, butchers are coming!” another woman almost begs, but she shakes her head. “I have to wait here.” If she could put it into words, she would tell her how she is the last guardian of this once grand House that had been Home to her and so many others, but she can't and so she doesn't. “I need to wait,” is all that she says instead, smiling as she watches them run.

 

Quietly enough that the butchers below don't notice, she slips into a control room and begins to press buttons, almost wondering how she knows to do this but not quite—it doesn't matter, all that matters is that she is the Guardian of this House and must protect it and the people making their escape.

 

Finished, she slips back out and gracefully seats herself on the walkway and watches as the invaders of her home, the place she's sworn to protect begin to drop. Inhaling the gases, she is almost surprised to feel none of the pain she sees the men below expressing as she grows drowsy. She knows she can go now, her duty complete. The DollHouse is safe now and she's helped survivors to find Safe Haven.

 

She closes her eyes and feels peacefulness descend upon her as she drifts off into the eternal sleep, her reward for a job well-done. And finally, Whiskey can rest.

 

~~FIN

 


End file.
